Perhaps a documentary to be more admired than loved.
Stunning sumptuous images elevate a rather thin conceit.
You emerge wondering what (and who) might lie beneath your own feet.
No voiceover, just images and the odd snatch of overheard dialogue. Kossakovsky plays diverting sight-games, and indulges in visual puns.
It’s lovely, lyrical stuff, the sort of film-making that works best if you let the images wash over you and allow the connection to percolate away in your brain.
General release. Check local listings for show times.